Grace City, nine o'clock in the evening.
The streets of Grace City were damp with a light drizzle, the glow from streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement like streaks of molten gold. Director Linton, the new head of the FBI division in Grace City, walked at a steady pace, his thoughts drifting from the day's work to the simple bag of groceries in his hand. It had been another long day of overtime. As the young director, fresh into his role, the weight of responsibility sat heavily on his shoulders. The stress was constant, but he welcomed the challenge.
The night air was cool, and the sound of distant traffic hummed softly in the background. Linton preferred walking home from the office—a simple 20-minute stroll that gave him a chance to clear his mind. He couldn't afford a car yet, but he didn't mind. The walk served as a way to unwind after the chaos of the day, a moment of peace in the otherwise relentless world of crime and enforcement.
Unbeknownst to Linton, a shadowy figure had been tailing him since he left the convenience store. Dressed in an oversized coat, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low and dark sunglasses shielding their face, the stalker expertly blended into the city's ebb and flow. Despite their apparent casual demeanor, every step was calculated, every movement precise. They kept a safe distance, watching Linton with the sharp, practiced eyes of a predator.
The streets were still bustling with late commuters and people heading to bars, but the figure navigated the crowd effortlessly, using the cover of bodies and the dimly lit storefronts to remain unseen.
Linton showed no sign of awareness. He continued his leisurely walk, unaware of the danger closing in. At one point, his phone rang, and he answered it with an exasperated sigh. The conversation was short, punctuated by a few annoyed remarks, and after hanging up, he murmured under his breath, clearly irritated by whoever had called.
He soon approached a narrow alley, its entrance a jagged maw of darkness cutting through the otherwise lively streets. The alley was a shortcut home, one that Linton had taken countless times before. It was grimy and uninviting, but it saved him a few minutes on his walk. Besides, it was usually deserted at this hour.
But tonight, it wasn't deserted.
The figure behind him quickened their pace, closing the distance before Linton reached the alley's entrance. They waited a cautious twenty seconds before slipping in after him, moving swiftly and silently. The air in the alley was thick and damp, a lingering scent of rot and decay hanging in the narrow passageway.
But when the stalker turned the corner, Linton was gone.
For a moment, confusion flashed across the figure's face. The alley was a straight path, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. There was nowhere to hide. Yet, the man they had been following had vanished without a trace.
Then, the wind shifted.
Before the stalker could react, a sudden rush of air from behind was followed by a powerful fist aimed squarely at their head. Instincts kicked in, and the figure twisted their body, narrowly dodging the blow. Spinning on their heel, they finally saw Linton—standing a few feet behind, his expression calm but his eyes sharp, almost predatory.
"Following me isn't as easy as you thought, is it?" Linton said, his voice low and even, not betraying the slightest hint of fear. His posture was relaxed, yet poised for another strike.
The stalker's lips curled into a tight line, realizing they had misjudged their target. Linton was not some clueless bureaucrat. He was a seasoned operative, someone who had seen his share of combat. And now, the hunter had become the hunted.
The stalker threw off the oversized coat, revealing their true form—a woman. She was tall and lean, her body coiled with muscle, dressed provocatively under the disguise. Her skin gleamed under the faint light of the alley, smooth and pale, and a bold, intricate tattoo snaked its way across her shoulder. But what caught Linton's attention wasn't her appearance—it was the tattoo itself. The coiling serpent etched into her skin sent a shock of recognition through him.
"Green Snake," Linton murmured, his eyes narrowing. "Black Sun."
The infamous organization, Black Sun, had been a thorn in the side of law enforcement for years. They were a syndicate of elite killers, mercenaries who operated in the shadows, taking out targets across the globe. Green Snake was one of their top operatives—a deadly assassin with a reputation for being as cunning as she was lethal.
A smirk tugged at Green Snake's lips. Before Linton could act, a tall, thin man with hollow eyes and a long, gleaming knife stepped from the shadows behind him. The knife slashed through the air, aimed at Linton's back.
Ambush.
Linton's reflexes kicked in, honed by years of training. He spun on his heel, dodging the blade by a hair's breadth, and countered with a sharp kick aimed at the man's chest. The thin man stumbled back, his knife swinging wildly, but Linton wasn't out of danger yet.
Another figure appeared from the darkness, a hulking brute of a man, his fists clenched like sledgehammers. Before Linton could react, the massive man's fist collided with his face.
Boom.
The impact sent Linton staggering backward, pain exploding through his skull. He tasted blood as it dripped from his mouth, his vision swimming with stars.
'Careless.' Linton cursed inwardly, frustrated with himself. He should have anticipated this, should have known there would be more than one. But he had allowed himself to focus on Green Snake, walking straight into their trap.
Green Snake moved in swiftly, delivering two rapid kicks to his side. Each blow sent waves of pain coursing through Linton's ribs. Before he could catch his breath, a fourth attacker emerged—a masked man with cold, dead eyes. The man's fists pummeled Linton, knocking him to the ground.
Linton collapsed to his knees, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth. The four assassins circled him, their sneers cutting deeper than any of their blows. But despite the beating, Linton's mind remained sharp. His training kicked in, cataloging each of their faces, matching them to names he had memorized from countless briefings.
Black Eagle, Green Snake, Kestrel, Ghost Face.
These were no ordinary killers. They were the elite, the best of the best in the underworld. Any one of them was capable of terrorizing an entire city. And now, they had all come for him.
"Twice," Ghost Face hissed, his voice a rasping whisper as he licked the edge of his blade. The venom in his words was palpable. Linton's stomach churned.
Black Eagle, the hulking brute, chuckled darkly. "I have to admit, you're not like the weaklings who used to run this city's FBI. No wonder Venomous Bee ended up in your hands."
Venomous Bee. So that's why they're here. Black Sun believed Linton was responsible for capturing one of their own—Venomous Bee, an assassin with a reputation nearly as fearsome as theirs. But it was all a misunderstanding. Linton hadn't even laid eyes on Venomous Bee until after the arrest. It had been pure luck that the killer was found knocked out, hanging from a tarmac, with no one knowing who had taken him down.
But there was no explaining that to Black Sun.
Linton wiped the blood from his mouth, forcing himself to his feet. He locked eyes with Black Eagle. "Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked, his voice steady despite the pain. "You're attacking the head of the FBI. Do you really think you'll get away with this?"
Green Snake rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with disdain. "Ordinarily, yes, you'd be a problem. But our orders come from above, and trust me, you don't want to know how high. Getting rid of you—even the head of the FBI—was easy."
Linton took a deep breath, standing his ground. Despite the odds, he couldn't show weakness. "Four elite killers, and you still need an ambush? What's wrong? Afraid to fight me one-on-one?"
It was a desperate taunt, but Linton knew how to play on the pride of killers.
Black Eagle grinned, his massive fists flexing. "Interesting. It's been a while since I had a real challenge."
Green Snake folded her arms, watching with amusement. "Here we go again," she muttered.
Black Eagle cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. "You all stay out of this," he said to the others. "Let's see what this 'Heroic Chief' can do."
Linton's muscles tensed as he prepared for the fight. He blocked out everything else, focusing entirely on Black Eagle. But the hulking brute was faster than he anticipated.
In just a few short exchanges, Black Eagle's fist crashed into Linton's jaw with the force of a sledgehammer. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and he felt one of his teeth come loose. His vision blurred, pain radiating through his skull.
Too strong. Linton staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet. Black Eagle wasn't just any fighter—he was a master, a killer honed by countless battles. Linton had underestimated him, and now he was paying the price.
Another punch hit him, sending him reeling into the wall. His body was numb with pain, and yet he forced himself to stay standing, his mind racing for a way out.
"Not bad," Black Eagle said, smirking. "But you're still no match for me."
Linton, battered and bloody, tried to keep his balance. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. But as Black Eagle moved in for the final blow, something unexpected happened.
Footsteps echoed from deeper within the alley, cutting through the tension like a knife.
The assassins turned, their eyes narrowing as they stared into the darkness.
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward.
A bat.
[TL Note—What happened to the message? How can you ambush someone if you sent them a message about it happening???]